


the president

by bluebeholder



Series: the accidental epic [46]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Making Fun of American Politics, Original Character-centric, Plot, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 13:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15909501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: MACUSA's new president comes to visit an Auror, unpleasant rumors are confirmed, and a letter is sent.





	the president

**Author's Note:**

> Let's play Spot the President! Pick one, throw a dart, and you'll hit Grimsditch on the way. He's the worst of every politician that I could manage to put together...
> 
> Apologies for those who aren't reading this series for its original characters. This is some extremely necessary background setup for some things that occur...oh, about 100,000 words from now. Or thereabouts.
> 
> To get a handle on Winfrith, check out "the texas case," "the department," and "the chicago case." I believe she's also mentioned in "a better mirror," but I can't put my finger on the exact chapter.

Sixteenth Street in Denver is busy. Winfrith Simon absolutely does not care, sweeping through the pedestrians without pause. They get out of her way, possibly not even realizing they’re doing it. It’s a trick she learned from her old mentor: stand tall and _stride_ instead of walk.

The effect is probably undercut by the chocolate fudge she moodily eats as she heads up the street toward the Empire Building. It probably wasn’t a wise idea for Winfrith to stop at a No-Maj confectionery today of all days, but what the hell. It was Baur’s or nothing, and if Winfrith wants to get through the next three hours she’d rather not do it on an empty stomach. Besides, she thinks her fudge addiction is better than most Aurors’ obsession with coffee.

She sweeps into the Empire Building, rolling the top of the paper bag and tucking it into her pocket. Better save that for later. She’ll need a pick-me-up after getting done with this nightmare of a day.

This branch office is not nearly as glamorous as the one in Chicago or California. The lobby is large, but serviceable. Polished granite walls practically show Winfrith’s reflection as she passes and her shoes click pleasantly on the tiled floor. A replica of the New York Threat Clock stands facing the doors and a long reception desk occupies the left wall. A flight of stairs goes up on the right, and clustered about are waiting chairs meant for visitors who aren’t the President.

Unlike the other branch offices, though, there are no unnecessary frills here. This office was a last-minute necessity proposed because, despite the fact that the states of the Mountain West are relatively underpopulated, there are still wizards out here. Moreover, the wizards out here tend to be troublesome—loners, mavericks, and outlaws. Despite that, though, people tend to look down their noses at the Denver office for being backwater and generally less glamorous than other Auror offices.

It’s not every day that the President himself comes to a place like this. It would be an honor, except there’s one very big problem: Winfrith _hates_ the President. Rovius Grimsditch is a populist bastard whose idea of strategic defense against Grindelwald is isolationism, curtailment of free press, and worse. And now he’s here, in _her city_.

The biggest question everyone is asking is just why Grimsditch is making this tour of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement branch offices. He’d been to Chicago already, and now he’s here. The California office will be getting a visit, and so too will the Texas offices. Rumors are buzzing, but the Chicago office is tight-lipped.

A brief conversation with the receptionist shows that, yes, the president is upstairs waiting in Winfrith’s office for her. A team of Aurors is headed south to Pueblo, where there’s some flare-up between the Italians and the Lithuanians again. Despite the chance—no, certainty of—violence, Winfrith wishes she were going there, rather than heading upstairs.

But head upstairs she does. Her nerves flutter as she approaches the door of her office and she has to force herself to stay calm. He’ll be on her in a second if she’s vulnerable. On one hand, people have told her before that her nervousness is the reasons she’s still alive. On the other, it acts like blood in the water around men like Grimsditch.

“Pardon my lateness, Mr. President,” she says briskly, striding in through the door. Her office, somewhat cluttered with theatrical memorabilia, with a dozen rugs layered on the floor and windows with a view of the mountains, is normally a sanctuary. Today, it’s just more stress. President Rovius Grimsditch is sitting in the chair in front of her desk. He has no guard. None of the Aurors from the office, let alone a New York Auror or two, or even the Head of the MLE or Director of Magical Security, either of whom would be an appropriate traveling companion. Winfrith used to be partners with the new Director—Abigail Harding is a phenomenal wizard, and it boggles the mind that Grimsditch didn’t bring her along.

This lack of guard is what keeps Winfrith of the opinion that nobody learned from 1926. What could have happened to the President if security was even slightly lax? If somebody could get to Percival Graves, then they could easily get to Grimsditch, who isn’t half the wizard Winfrith is. And she isn’t _half_ the wizard that Graves had been.

He rises and offers his hand and a politician’s smile, toothy and bright. “Director Simon! No need for apologies, it was good to take a load off my feet.”

Winfrith returns the smile with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. He looks damnably wholesome for somebody who has Scourers littering the roots of his family tree. “It’s an honor to have you here,” she says, taking her seat. Her chair is uncomfortable, but she took one of her old mentor’s maxims when they made her head of the Denver office: having a hard chair means it’s easier to get up. Winfrith bets that Grimsditch has the most comfortable chair in New York City. “Your message was a little vague, if you’ll pardon my saying.”

Grimsditch sits as well. He has a pleasant, open, All-American face. Blond hair, slicked back elegantly; a movie star’s jaw; eyes that sparkle cheerfully at a distance and gleam like oil up close. “Had to be vague,” he says. “Matter of national security.”

Winfrith points her wand at the door, reinforcing the locking and silencing spells. “Go on, sir,” she says, looking at Grimsditch again.

She doubts the man will think to ask about any recording equipment in the room, which is good. Winfrith has had several lessons about security beaten into her head in the last five years, and she makes it a point to always keep a self-devised sort of “magic ear” listening in her office. It could come in handy someday. Come to think of it, “someday” might be “today.”

When the spells are cast, Grimsditch relaxes. He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. “I feel safe in saying, Simon, that you’re one of our best. That’s why I thought I’d better come and see you.”

“A courtesy call?” Winfrith asks, arching her eyebrows. It’s not as effective as some she’s seen, but it conveys things well enough.

“A little more than that,” Grimsditch says. He pauses.

So… “How bad are things?”

Grimsditch sighs. “I’ll be honest: pretty bad,” he says. For a moment, he looks a little haggard, and Winfrith feels a pang of sympathy for the man. “Grindelwald’s getting bolder. There are concerns…you know how it is. And not just us, everyone’s afraid.”

“I’m not surprised,” Winfrith says. “There have even been some issues out here.”

“Dealt with well, of course.” Grimsditch’s smile comes back in full force, and he has the audacity to wink at her. “You know what you’re about. One of our most competent Aurors.”

Winfrith smiles thinly. “Thank you,” she says.

For just a moment, the merest moment, Winfrith can’t read Grimsditch’s expression at all. “I sincerely hope that I can count on you, if push comes to shove,” he says.

“I really hate Grindelwald,” Winfrith says baldly. “You certainly can count on me. If you know where the bastard is—” She waves her wand suggestively, and Grimsditch laughs.

“If only it were that easy,” he says.

Winfrith shrugs. “Mr. President, nothing is ever that easy.”

There’s a moment of silence. Winfrith gazes out the window, tracing the silhouettes of the mountains with her eyes. Those mountains are what makes the West worth staying for, in her opinion.

“Well,” Grimsditch says, “I guess I’d better fill you in.”

“Please do,” Winfrith says. She gestures widely. “The floor’s yours.”

Grimsditch nods, slow and deliberate. “If you’ve heard any rumors about a conspiracy in the International Confederation of Wizards,” he says, “please know that they’re true.”

Winfrith furrows her brow. “Conspiracy…? As in, traitors?”

“People who are risking the very Statute of Secrecy itself,” Grimsditch says sternly. “There are some countries who’d like very much to fight Grindelwald in an open war. That, we just can’t risk.”

“Sounds like a terrible idea,” Winfrith says. Privately, she thinks it sounds wonderful. “Are you concerned that someone will contact me…? You know I’m loyal to MACUSA, Mr. President.”

Grimsditch sighs again, looking out the window. At this angle, it’s apparent that his jawline is very chiseled. So chiseled, in fact, that Winfrith wonders how many Transfiguration spells he’s under. “Your loyalty isn’t in question. I only wondered if, perhaps, out of respect for old friendship, that you’d let something questionable go.”

“Sir,” Winfrith says warningly. “Who’s involved?”

“You may not believe it.”

“Try me.”

Grimsditch wears an expression that makes Winfrith grip the handle of her wand and try to remind herself she’s not the target of his anger. “I still can’t believe that Seraphina Picquery would commit treason like this,” he mutters.

“ _Her_?”

He waves his hand. “It’s not her I’m worried about,” he says. “Not coming here, at any rate.”

“Then who—”

Grimsditch speaks over her. “In 1927,” he says clearly, projecting as if he’s making a speech from behind a podium, “America lost track of the greatest weapon we might have ever had against Grindelwald—a weapon now protected by China, one of the countries involved in conspiracy to break the Statute of Secrecy.”

Winfrith cuts in. “Do you _know_ it’s a conspiracy?”

“It’s clear from their actions,” Grimsditch says. So they don’t know for sure, then. Winfrith lets it go, though. She has a far more important question.

“What weapon?”

“The Obscurial,” Grimsditch says.

It’s funny, Winfrith thinks, how fast tunnel vision turns her office gray. She grips the arms of her chair so tight she thinks they’ll crack. “Don’t we know where he is?”

“Madame Ya Zhou has _neglected_ to inform the Confederation of his true location,” Grimsditch says. “But I’m not even here about him. I’m here about the traitor who _stole_ that weapon from us.”

Her heart nearly stops.

“Has Percival Graves met with you at any time in the last six months?”

“No,” Winfrith says, when she gets her air back. “I haven’t seen him since—since before Grindelwald captured him.”

“I’m sorry to spring this on you,” Grimsditch says, seeming genuinely sympathetic. “I know you were close to him once.”

“He was my mentor,” Winfrith says stiffly. “He put me in charge out here after the branch offices first got off the ground.”

Grimsditch nods. “And he made the right choice. I only met the man a few times myself, but I know he was an impeccable judge of character.”

Winfrith nods. She thinks about her first case with him, an incident in Texas. It’s a fond memory, of disenchanting cannons while Graves dueled wizards to keep them off her back. He’d asked her, personally, to go along. Apparently he’d seen potential in her, even then.

“But I do wonder sometimes about that mess in twenty-six,” Grimsditch goes on.

Instantly, Winfrith’s attention snaps back to him. “What’s there to wonder?” she asks. “I’ve read all the reports. Just a bunch of accidents.”

“Accidents,” Grimsditch says. He rests his elbows comfortably on her desk, leaning forward. “Do you really think a wizard of Percival Graves’ caliber would fall to Grindelwald by _accident_?”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

Grimsditch scoffs. “Mistakes don’t account for something as dramatic as being _taken prisoner_ by a dark wizard, apparently _replaced_ for half a year, and then stealing a weapon that threatens the security of the _entire world_ and running away with it.”

Winfrith’s pulse is pounding in her ears. “Are you…accusing Percival Graves of treason?”

“Charges will never be brought,” Grimsditch says. “And I’d like to think it’s untrue, but I have to ensure that everything is fine in the ranks of MACUSA. You see, Director Simon, the head of every single branch of the MLE was chosen by a man who may have been an ally of Grindelwald.”

It feels like the floor is tipping, but Winfrith keeps her balance. “Are you,” she asks clearly, “accusing _me_ of treason?”

Grimsditch looks alarmed. “No, of course not! What I _am_ saying is that, in light of all available evidence and in the current security climate…I’ve found it necessary to establish new directors for regional branch offices.”

There goes the floor, right out from under her.

Winfrith doesn’t really remember the rest of the conversation. She conducts it on autopilot, smiling and polite and “yes, Mr. President, I understand” and “no, Mr. President, I’m not upset.” And when Grimsditch leaves, she can’t even remember the name of the man who’ll be coming in next week as her replacement.

For a long time, she sits and stares out the window. She can’t bring herself to cry, not really. She worked hard for this position. At the same time…

“Graves was right, that son of a bitch,” she mutters, when she gets up from her chair to begin packing up her things. “A hard chair really does make it easier to get up.”

She’s done with the first box when a thought occurs to her. It’s a really devious, dangerous, stupid thought, but the longer that she stares at her office and thinks about what just happened, the more she likes it. Really, she thinks, pulling out her fudge and taking a very angry bite, it’s a _treasonous_ thought. She shouldn’t like it.

That doesn’t stop Winfrith from retrieving the recording of the conversation from her “magical ear” and storing it for transport. She dashes off a brief note and sends it off by owl.

Here’s to hoping that this recording, evidence of an earthquake that might shake MACUSA apart, will reach Seraphina Picquery intact.

**Author's Note:**

> Denver in 1931 is tough to track down information for. It was between mining town and regional metropolis at that point, with not a lot of exceptional happenings. BUT I did find some fun things. 
> 
> The Empire Building is a historic building that still stands on Sixteenth Street. There are probably other appropriate locations for the Denver branch office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but this one seemed to have the appropriate styling. To get an idea of how Denver looked in the early 30s, take a look at all of these photos.
> 
> As for the fudge: the Baur Confectionery Company was the most popular in Denver well into the 20th century. History Colorado provided a brief history of the company and a list of the variety of recipes they had for various treats. 
> 
> Pueblo was a hugely multicultural center of steel production at this point in history. It had actual ethnic districts, uncommon for cities West of the Mississippi. And, as usual when people from different cultures get close to each other for the first time, conflict was pretty much inevitable. 
> 
> Re: Mountain West. The US Census Bureau divides the United States into four regions, each divided into divisions: Northeast, Midwest, South, and West. Relevant to this story is the Mountain West, which is comprised of the states of Arizona, Colorado, Idaho, Montana, Nevada, New Mexico, Utah, and Wyoming. The history of the Census Bureau is pretty chaotic. Data hasn’t always been collected by region; in 1853, James D.B. DeBow started using them along with some socioeconomic data in the census. There were a LOT, though, based on state/territory lines, watersheds, natural boundaries, and so on. The modern nine regional divisions first appear in the 1910 decennial census (the one taken every ten years) and continue to be used in about the same way from 1920 on.


End file.
